Caskets of Lead
by MoaLeigh
Summary: Antonio will do anything in the world for his best friend Bassanio. Anything... even give up his life.
1. Chapter 1 - An Infinite Deal of Nothing

**A/N: Once upon a time a slightly yaoi obssesed high school girl watched the move "Merchant of Venice" (after reading the play by William Shakespeare first of course). There was so much slash BEGGING to be written and thus... Caskets of Lead was birthed! My story is based off of Mr. Shakespeare's play, throw in a little slash and some medival magic, a plot twist or two... and you have Caskets of Lead! :) If you have not read the play- google it! If you can't be bothered and want to see a good movie featuring mild toplessness, go watch the movie! (The 2004 version... I don't know if that's the only one or not.) The characters names are all the same, and I added an OC. Just one I think. Anyway, enjoy and please drop me a review!**

_Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?_

~ William Shakespeare

Chapter One

The study was too noisy. Horses clip-clopping outside, merchants shouting, criers crying, beggars begging, carts rattling, gamblers shouting, drunken brawls, laundry ladies singing-

It was too much.

Antonio swung around and shut his window with a little too much force. The window rattled, almost as if it were irritated by his unnecessary violence. Antonio leaned his head against the cool pane of glass. He was slightly out of breath. There was too much on his mind; he needed silence.

With a weary sigh he ran his fingers through his short, dark hair and returned to looking at the map stretched across his desk. Several model ships sat on the map, two in the Indian Ocean, one in the Atlantic, five in the Pacific… and one in the Caribbean. His father was on that ship.

Antonio sighed and shook the stories of pirates he had heard down at the docks from his mind. His father had taken his best crew with him on that ship. Antonio's father was a merchant, the richest in Neo Venice. Antonio was of the opinion that having the whole fleet on the ocean at once was a foolish move, and had voiced his opinion to his father. His father had laughed at him. He was seventeen summers, not yet a man but no longer a boy. What did he know of trading?

Antonio's stomach twisted with resentment and worry. He reached for the goblet of red wine waiting for him, on the edge of the desk. He lifted the goblet to his lips-

The door to his study flew open and hit the wall with a bang, starling Antonio into dropping his goblet and spilling the wine down the front of his shirt.

"My lord Antonio," the intruder, a slender lad with bright orange hair, announced with a dramatic bow. "I have arrived!"

"I had not noticed, Gratiano," Antonio said icily, plucking at his soaked and ruined shirt.

Gratiano waltzed across the room with the dramatic flair that was ever present in his movements and speech. He threw an arm around Antonio's broad shoulders, and Antonio noticed the garish quality of his friend's attire. The bright colors and puffed sleeves would have better suited a woman's dress, but then again it was Gratiano's style to stick out of the crowd in whatever way possible…

"I have been anticipating this night for many a moon," Gratiano gushed with a grand sweep of one bony arm. "The fine wine, the fair women, the music and games!" He did not seem fazed at all when Antonio shrugged him off. "It will be a grand party indeed, and so generous of you to host it, my lord." Gratiano gave his friend a big smile, but Antonio's grey eyes were glued to the far wall. Gratiano squinted at the wall; what was he looking at? The bookshelf? Who cared about books when there was a party to be attending?

"Are you ill?" Gratiano asked Antonio, studying his face closely.

"I feel fine, Gratiano."

"Then you are sad!" Gratiano gasped, his brown eyes wide. "Why are you sad?"

"Who ever said I was sad?" Antonio demanded, his patience wearing thin.

Gratiano spied the wine-stained map and the eight ships on it. "Ah, you are worried about your father and his fleet."

"My father is capable of handling himself on the open sea as he has a hundred times before," Antonio muttered.

"Is a family member ill?" Gratiano pressed, determined to get to the source of his friend's worried expression.

"My family is _fine_."

Gratiano threw up his arms. "Then I am at a loss as to your reason for a heavy heart!"

Antonio sighed; maybe the fool would let the subject drop. He moved to the window and looked down upon the street just as a brand new carriage pulled by four immaculate white horses started to come down the drive. Antonio's family manor had once been a secluded sea-side mansion, but as Neo Venice had grown the town's borders had pushed closer and closer to his family's property line. The property line was unfortunately not far enough from the house to insure that the din from the city did not disturb the occupants of the house.

Antonio did not recognize the carriage at first; who besides his close friends or family would be arriving so early in the afternoon before his party was due to commence? The carriage pulled up to the entrance and one of Antonio's servants went down to greet the guests. The servant opened the door and out stepped a slender young man with soft blond hair that curled to his shoulders and eyes the color of a cloudless sky.

Antonio's heart dropped into his stomach and for a second he was sure he'd be sick.

Gratiano was suddenly at his side again and slung an arm around his shoulders. "Ah! It seems Bassanio has arrived with his lady. That must be a new carriage; I have never seen it before. And the latest make too! Her family always has to have the latest everyth…"

Antonio stopped listening to his friend. He watched with an aching heart as Bassanio turned and held out his hand to the other occupant of the carriage. A slender, gloved hand settled in his and from the confines of the carriage emerged a truly spectacular lady, the most beautiful in all of Neo Venice: Portia of house Catling. Her dark brown curls flowed in a supple cascade down her shoulders and back. Her new dress, a full-bodied, long-trained, green thing, brought out her dark green eyes with stunning vibrancy. Her full lips were painted red and her porcelain skin glowed. She smiled at her escort and the birds seemed to sing a little louder at what that smile did to further enhance her beauty.

"She is lovelier than the finest jewels in Neo Venice," Gratiano breathed. Only Portia's beauty could make Gratiano lower his voice to an acceptable volume.

Antonio turned away from the window, his eyebrows knitting together in a fierce frown. He tugged his ruined shirt off and dropped it on the floor. A maid would be up later to fetch it. Luckily, one of his servants had set his own evening attire in the study for him. They had noticed that he didn't leave his study much these days.

He pulled on the crisp white evening shirt that stood out starkly against his tan skin. Gratiano tried not to stare at the white scars that rippled across the young lord's washboard stomach. Whatever sense that the man had in his head, it was telling him not to ask about the scars. Soon his curiosity outweighed his sense.

"My lord… Where did you get those scars?" Gratiano asked.

A faint smile touched Antonio's lips. "The sword, or the knife, usually." He touched a particularly thick scar across his chest and remembered the day he got it. It was less than a year ago, and Bassanio had been in financial trouble with a rather nasty moneylender. Antonio, as always, had come to Bassanio's aid with money and, as usual, that hadn't been enough for the moneylender to atone for Bassanio's witty comebacks and patronizing ways.

As usual it had turned into a swordfight, but Antonio had not anticipated the moneylender's son to be so skilled with a blade. He had received the gash that was now a scar before he had ended the life of the moneylender's son. Antonio had fainted from blood loss on the way to the closest infirmary. Bassanio had cried, thinking his friend was dying.

Antonio chuckled. This was the way it had been with them since they were boys and Bassanio's father was a servant in their household. Bassanio would talk himself into a corner and Antonio would get him back out. Then Bassanio's father had gone into the map making business (a veritable trade in Neo Venice, where there were almost as many ports as houses), and had made a very small fortune for his family. It was enough to promote Bassanio to a social standing that allowed him to become the object of fancy for the beautiful Lady Portia…

"Ah-ha!" Gratiano cried suddenly. "I have it! You are in love, my lord! Is it the fair Portia? Tsk, tsk, Antonio. Bassanio will not be pleased when he learns that you have eyes for his lady!"

Antonio shot a glare in his friend's direction. "Gratiano, you speak an infinite deal of nothing."

Gratiano gave another of his dramatic gasps, which Antonio ignored. He donned his evening coat and, with a queasy stomach, left the room to welcome his guests.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Happy Occasion

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long to get the second chapter up :/ It's a break this weekend, and with the storm I keep getting sent home early from work. And I hope to have a productive week coming up so will see if I can't crank out a few more chapters ;) I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I hope you all are enjoying it! Drop me a review- it will make a poor college student happy :')**

_The course of true love never did run smooth._

~William Shakespeare

Chapter Two - A Happy Occasion

Portia was saying something, most likely blathering about whatever quaint, useless things women found interesting. Bassanio appeared intensely interested, but someone who had known him since he was a boy would have been able to spot that unfocused look in his eyes. Antonio stood at the top of the grand stairwell, looking down upon his guests as they waited in the foyer. They did look happy…

Antonio suppressed a sigh and started down the stairs. His steps were silent until the seventh stair down, the one that always creaked. The stair that had gotten him and Bassanio caught oh so many times when they were children as they tried to sneak out in the middle of the night.

Bassanio whirled around and looked up at Antonio, his blond hair swinging at the nape of his neck. A wide smile lit up his face and made his wide blue eyes shine. "You look well, old friend!"

A smile slowly grew on Antonio's face despite his leaden heart. "As do you, Bassanio." As he reached the bottom of the stairs the two young men clasped arms, sharing a smile that communicated more than words could. Antonio noticed that his friend seemed in an especially good mood. Most likely he was just anticipating the evening's festivities.

Antonio carefully kept his smile as he bowed and pressed his lips briefly to Portia's gloved hand. "Welcome, Lady Portia. You look especially lovely tonight."

"Many thanks, my lord," Portia replied politely, and then flashed an excited smile at Bassanio.

"My lord Bassanio!" Gratiano cried from his position at the top of the stairs.  
"I have the most dreadful news!"

"Graciano…" Antonio's icy glare matched his tone.

Bassanio, who was only too familiar with Gratiano's antics, frowned in mock concern. "Oh, do tell us immediately then."

"I do believe Antonio's heart of stone has cracked!" Gratiano announced as if he were heralding the end times.

Bassanio's smile widened. "Oh my, that is dreadful news. Now who shall we tease about forever being a bachelor?" The young man winked at his best friend and Antonio felt a smile tug at his lips despite his irritation.

"Who is the lucky lady?" Portia pressed.

"Why, only the fairest lady in the land," Antonio replied in a completely serious tone. "Lady Clarice of house Palaver." Gratiano flushed red at the mention of his mother. Portia hid a smile behind one delicate hand while Bassanio laughed out loud.

"Mess with the bull and you will get the horns, my friend," Bassanio grinned, clapping Gratiano on the shoulder.

With a highly offended sniff, Gratiano offered his arm to Portia. "My lady, allow me to take you away from these vulgar fellows."

"There's tea in the parlor," Antonio said, grateful for the chance to talk to his friend without Portia at his side. This was an increasingly rare occurrence these days.

"Insult my mother again, sir, and I will be forced to challenge you," Gratiano threatened, giving Antonio a meaningful look.

"To a sword duel?" Bassanio scoffed. He knew Gratiano was only kidding (or at least he hoped the fool wasn't stupid enough to challenge Antonio to a duel). "My friend, you wouldn't last ten seconds!"

Gratiano left with Portia before his pride could be injured further.

"That man cannot take a jest," Bassanio grinned, "although he is proficient at handing them out."

"Oh, he more than deserved it," Antonio sighed, leading his friend out onto the terrace. Next to Antonio's broad frame, Bassanio looked almost delicate. For a man who had once been a servant boy, he was surprisingly slight.

The final preparations for the evening's festivities were being made. The Romano's grounds were covered by impressive hedges and immaculately groomed gardens. The gardens were dotted with tables and the group of musicians Antonio had hired were stringing and tuning their instruments in the gazebo at the center of the terrace. The entertainers would be arriving shortly and the cooks were busy in the kitchens making the final touches on the food. Everything had gone exactly as planned. The weather was warm and the sky was clear. It would be an evening to remember…

"Any news from your father?" Bassanio inquired.

"None," Antonio murmured. He did nothing to hide the worry in his face now. Around Bassanio he didn't need to be strong all the time.

"I heard Sullivan's company lost another ship in the Caribbean," Bassanio said gravely.

"My father is a very capable captain," Antonio repeated the sentiment he had expressed to Gratiano. "He will be fine."

Bassanio clapped him on the arm. "Say what you will, I know how close you are to your father. But tonight is not the night to be somber, my friend! Tonight is a night to be merry!"

"And will you _finally _tell me why you had me host this party?" Antonio asked, unable to hide his smile. Bassanio had asked him a fortnight ago if Antonio would do him a favor (as if Bassanio didn't already owe his life in favors to Antonio) and host a party at the manor. He would not say the occasion but, like every time before, Antonio obliged. He hoped his parents would not make a fuss; Bassanio seemed to have little care for the expense of anything, but parties were not cheap.

Bassanio grabbed his friend's wrist and pulled him down so their faces were inches apart. Antonio's heart hammered in his chest and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Bassanio's blue eyes were wide with excitement. One soft blond curl fell in his face and Antonio was tempted to tuck it behind his friend's ear. A huge smile lit up Bassanio's face; the boy always seemed to smile with his entire soul when he smiled. It was…

"Tonight I am going to ask Portia for her hand," he whispered. His slender hands trembled as he removed a ring set with an emerald from his pocket. Antonio leaned back; the momentary relief he had felt from his heavy-heartedness was over. The day dream, the hope- that was all over now. This was it.

"It's beautiful," Antonio mumbled. _How far in debt did it put you this time? _Antonio forced a smile and shook his friend's hand. "I offer you my congratulations. She would be a foolish woman to refuse you. I wish you both the best." Each sentiment tasted like poison as it rolled off his tongue.

If Bassanio noticed his friend's displeasure, he made no comment on it. "Many thanks. You are like a brother to me, Antonio; your blessing means as much to me as her father's."

_Like a brother…_

"Then he has given you his blessing?"

Bassanio nodded, shaking more of his curls loose. "Just last week, yes."

"Wonderful." Antonio tried to sound like he meant it sincerely.

Bassanio laughed like his body simply couldn't contain the joy he felt. "Five gold pieces says Portia and I have our first child before you have occasion to buy such a ring."

"Such a small bet for such certain odds?" Antonio joked, but his heart wasn't in it.

"Did Gratiano speak the truth? Has a local beauty caught your eye?"

"Gratiano thinks himself an expert on me…" Antonio muttered irritably.

Bassanio laughed again. "Foolish man! You are as mysterious as the stars and as unreadable as stone!"


	3. Chapter 3 - A Lovely Last Sight

**A/N: Woo! Another short chapter! Things are getting interesting :) Poor Antonio... Please drop me a review or a comment :)**

_Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move his aides, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love._

~ William Shakespeare

Chapter Three – A Lovely Last Sight

The party was in full swing. Torches blazed along the sides of the terrace and on posts stationed around the garden. Candles dripped wax onto every unmoving surface. Light, upbeat music had been playing but had briefly stopped. Portia and Bassanio had snuck away from the party but returned five minutes later with Portia wearing the ring and Bassanio wearing the biggest, happiest smile Antonio had ever seen. The music had stopped to allow Bassanio to announce the engagement. Now the music was playing again and there was much laughing and talking and dancing, all in celebration of this happy announcement.

Antonio had slipped through the crowd when he saw the lovers return to the party post-proposal. He stayed close enough to hear the announcement, but far enough away so that the light of the torches would not reveal his broken heart.

Bassanio and Portia stayed near the gazebo, taking congratulations from the guests with intertwined hands and matching smiles. After every well-wisher Bassanio would look around with a quizzical expression on his face. He was looking for his best hand, the one who should have been the happiest well-wisher of all.

Antonio could not have been more miserable. He sat down on a cold stone bench deep in the hedges. Why had he entertained these foolish thoughts for so long? They would never come to fruition… Antonio did not consider himself a fool or a hopeless romantic. He was practical and never dwelled on things that were not practical. Then again, when is love ever practical?

Bassanio, his best friend… _Married_. Antonio pictured them in front of the priest, dressed in their finest attire. He pictured them moving into their home, sharing a bed… Portia round with pregnancy…

The thought made him sick with jealousy and anger. This was only right, this union between two young lovers. Portia would make him happy… Wasn't that all that mattered? Bassanio's happiness; what more was there? She could give him everything a man desires…

And Antonio would be alone, always alone.

Antonio stood. He would not give into the sadness. Not now. Now he had to be a polite host and a good friend. There would be time enough for self-pity in the quiet days that followed. Lord only knew how little time Bassanio would have for his friends now that he would soon be a husband.

Bassanio spotted him as soon as he entered the light of the torches and waved him over. Antonio put on a big smile and walked over to join them. Bassanio embraced his friend and Antonio wrapped his arms around Bassanio's frail frame.

And he fought the pain with everything in his being.

Portia's carriage dropped Bassanio off at his house just as the sun showed its face on the horizon. She took in her hands the face of the man she was now engaged to be married to and stared into his blue eyes for a long moment before she kissed him.

He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, with red lips and fair, flawless skin almost like a woman's. She loved the way he laughed and smiled all the time, like nothing in the world could ever get him down. She loved the sweet words he whispered in her ears, like how he promised to fiercely lover her always and how she was more stunning than all the stars in the sky. The way he looked at her, the way they danced, everything. Portia loved all of it.

"I can't wait to begin our life together," she whispered.

"This night has been the happiest of my life," Bassanio replied fervently. "I love you so much."

"And I you. But we must part, if only for a while. It's late."

"I think you mean early, my sweet," Bassanio smiled. His eyes lowered seductively and he whispered in her ear the offer to not let the night end in the carriage. It was an offer that she had accepted before, even though it was hardly proper or custom.

"I must be getting home," she insisted, and kissed him one last time. As she drove away she found herself aching for him and wishing she had accepted his offer. There would be plenty of time for that after the wedding, but she was not known for her patience. Portia admired the stunning rock on her hand; it was truly beautiful. She hoped he had not spent too much on it…

His lack of fortune had never bothered her, but it bothered her father. It wouldn't be a problem after they were married. Bassanio would soon be finished in his apprenticeship to his father and then he would be ready to go off and start his own map-making business. But not here in Neo Venice.

Worry squirmed in her stomach. She had not exactly discussed this inevitable move with Bassanio. She hadn't needed to before now; now that they were engaged it was imperative that they have this talk. There were a lot of map-making businesses in Neo Venice, and while Bassanio's father was a good map maker, he wasn't the best. More competition from his son, who was very talented in the art, would only be bad for either business or both. Tensions would rise… They would have much better luck if they went up the coast. There was just one problem…

Antonio.

Portia knew Antonio would be secretly against the move but wouldn't say anything. He would never try to hold Bassanio back for his own sake, even if it meant saying good-bye to his childhood friend. Bassanio, on the other hand, would be very verbally against leaving Antonio behind. Those two were as thick as thieves. Convincing Bassanio to leave wouldn't be easy…

Portia sighed. She was getting a head ache just by thinking about the fights that would surely arise from this talk. She tried to put it out of her mind. It had been a long night and there was no use worrying about it now. She had happier things to think on, like how excited her sister Nerissa would be when she heard news the engagement. Well, excited was a relative term for Nerissa. Portia would be satisfied with a smile and a hug. For Nerissa, that was quite excited.

Portia dozed off, lulled to sleep by the rocking of the carriage. Her dreams were unfocused, consisting mainly of Bassanio's smile and the twinkling lights of the party. Suddenly a shrill scream shattered her dreams. The carriage jolted to a halt. She sat up with a gasp; that had been too high to be a human scream, hadn't it? The scream rent the air again- the horses!

"Wolf!" one of the two coachmen shouted. The sound of steel against scabbard was drowned out by more screaming from the horses and a vicious snarling.

"Stay in the carriage, Lady Portia!" one of the men, Wilfred was his name, shouted. And then he screamed, or maybe it was the other one. More snarling, the sound of flesh being ripped from bones, more screaming…

Bile rose in her throat and her blood turned to ice in her veins. Wolves? Her coachmen were trained to handle dangerous situations so that she would be safe from attacks from bandits or other evildoers. Wild animals should have presented them no problems. And this was very odd behavior for wolves. She had never heard of a pack attacking a moving carriage before. But her coachman had said _wolf _not _wolves-_

Portia was abruptly thrown against the side of her carriage as something very big and very heavy slammed into it. She let out a scream and then a yelp as she hit her back on the door handle. Pain shot through her body. She looked around for something, _anything _to defend herself with. That couldn't have been a wolf, it was too big! Her heart was pounding and her hands shook uncontrollably. Was she to die on the night of her engagement, torn limb from limb by a monster? She could hear it breathing, but it did not try to break into the carriage.

The other door, which was directly above her, opened slowly. Portia couldn't breathe. She was terrified, already expecting a pair of snapping jaws full of teeth to appear and crush her body like an egg. She could see the sky, splashed with the pinks and yellows of dawn. A lovely last sight…

However, jaws were not what appeared over her head. It was a hand, a gloved hand that reached into the carriage. She screamed and pressed herself into the corner as far away from the hand as possible. She couldn't see a face.

She heard words she couldn't understand spoken in a deep, commanding voice. There was a flash of bright blue light that seemed to emanate _from the hand_! Suddenly she felt a powerful wave of exhaustion overwhelm her. Her last sensation was one of panic and confusion.

_Bassanio…_

Portia's world went completely dark.


	4. Chapter 4 - Three Thousand Gold

**A/N: Another chapter! Writing is easy when the plot moves like this haha. What could have possibly happened to Portia? What was that flash of light?! Will Antonio ever get the antidepressants he needs?! All this and more... Read on! ;) (Oh and please drop me a review or a comment if you'd be so kind 3)**

_For where thou art, there is the world itself, and where thou art not, desolation._

~ William Shakespeare

Chapter Four – Three Thousand Gold

A usual morning for Bassanio began with the singing of the birds heralding the dawn, which is what usually woke him. However, on the night he proposed to Portia he went to bed with a head full of wine and love-struck happiness just as the birds were beginning to sing. He fell right asleep with his clothes still on and his dreams were convoluted, as often dreams influenced by wine are.

The sun was still low on the horizon when a knocking at his door woke him. Assuming it was the family's maid, he groaned, "Let me sleep, Gretchen." His head throbbed with a head ache and the light filtering through the drapes over the windows seemed blinding.

It wasn't Gretchen but Bassanio's father, Lord d'Firenze. The man was tall and slender and usually wore a jovial smile. Now his fair eyebrows were knit together and the lines around his mouth were deep. Something bad had happened.

"What is it, father?" Bassanio asked quietly.

"A servant from the Catling manor arrived at our house just now," Lord d'Firenze said gravely. "Apparently Lady Portia did not return home last night. This was found stuck to their door… with a dagger."

Bassanio's father handed him a sealed envelope with his name written with a flourish across it. He cracked the seal and pulled out piece of parchment with fluid writing on it in dark red ink. It had to be ink… It couldn't be blood, it was too red…

_ If the return of your love is what you desire_

_Go you to Zeus' Pyre_

_ Tell not soul, be wise_

_ Lose lips spell a lady's demise_

_ Bring three thousand gold_

_ And before the moon is two fortnights* old_

_ Come you to save fair Portia_

Bassanio set the note down. He didn't understand; was this… was this a _ransom_? How could she have been kidnapped, he had just seen her a few hours ago! Who would do this? Why would they ask Bassanio for money- he didn't have any! Wouldn't it be wiser to demand money from her family? It made no sense…

"What does it say, son?" Lord d'Firenze asked.

He couldn't tell anyone, that's what the note said. Lose lips spell a lady's _demise… _Fear filled his heart. Dear God, not Portia, not Portia…

_Keep it together, Bassanio._

But he didn't know what to do… His father would want to go to the authorities and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. He needed to talk to someone who would examine this problem from every angle before making a decision; someone would could keep a cool head, someone like…

"It says I need to go see Antonio."

She was not sure which pain she was aware of first, the throbbing in her head or the cold metal cutting into the skin her wrists? Shackles, that's what the metal was. Whatever she was shackled to was hard and cold. It felt rough and dry against her bare feet. Rock? It was dark- or had she been blinded?! No, there was a weak orange light flickering to her left. It hurt to move her head.

_Where is this place? Why am I here? I was… I was on my way…_

Suddenly it all came rushing back: the carriage being attacked by a wolf or wolves, the coachmen… being killed, the hand, the flash of light-

"How rude of me, I've let the fire die down." The voice was a man's, and it came from behind her.

"Who are you?" she croaked, her voice rusty from lack of use. What did this person want from her?

The owner of the voice came out from behind the rock. She couldn't see much in the dim light, except that he was tall and wore robes that dragged along the ground. He stretched out a hand toward the flickering flame and uttered more words she didn't understand. An orb of blue light burst from his hand and shot into the flame. The fire burned high and blue for a moment, and then settled down to a steady roar and returned to its natural hue.

With the increase in light Portia could see her prison with more clarity. The room was circular and stone from the damp-looking floor to the low ceiling. Shelves had been carved _into _the stone walls all the way around the room. Upon these shelves sat tomes and volumes of all sizes, most of which sported mold and mildew spots. She was not an avid reader, but she could imagine that the sight of these abused books would make her twin very sad.

Alongside the books were jars of… things floating in liquid. Some she could place (to her horror and disgust) and others she could not. There were vials of powder and odd-looking instruments. The only decoration in the room besides a long, cluttered table was a large, comfortable-looking chair.

The room, the strange words, the flashes of light… It all pointed to one thing.

"Sorcery," Portia whispered fearfully. Her nursemaid had told her stories of the Old Age, when magic ruled the land. It had been a dark time; and then the sorcerers and warlocks and magicians and witches and wizards had all been wiped out. Portia had assumed they were just stories to scare her into being a good girl because if she wasn't the sorcerers would return and snatch her up…

_Oh my God…_

"You are correct, my dear," the man intoned. Portia refused to look at him, but then he strode over to the chair and was in her line of sight. He was older, maybe forty summers or so, with sharply chiseled features and sunken, shadowed eyes. His raven-black hair and beard were shot through with silver and lines were already etched deep in the skin a round his mouth and eyes.

"Do you not recognize me, Portia of House Catling?" the sorcerer asked. His voice was not the venomous snarl her imagination had associated with sorcerers. It was cool and low, like he was speaking to an animal that he had no compassion for but did not wish to frighten.

Portia forced herself to study the man more closely. She wracked her brain for where she might have seen him. He did look a little familiar…

"Wait," she murmured, "you were at my engagement party last night… I remember you congratulating Bassanio and I! And you were at Antonio's Ides of March** feast! I have seen you at the Romano estate…"

"Naturally," the man offered her a thin, wane smile. "Lord Romano is my uncle. Shylock is my name."

"Why am I here?" she demanded, gaining some bravery in that she was dealing with a relative of Antonio. "What do you want from me?"

"My reasons are my own, and they shall remain as such for now. Oh don't worry, you are safe. It is not you I desire to hurt."

"I won't let you harm my Bassanio!" Portia declared. Shylock seemed to find this sentiment amusing, for he smiled again and brought his interlaced fingers up to his lips.

"Pray he doesn't get in my way then."

*fortnight – fourteen days

**Ides of March – March 15th


	5. Chapter 5 - The Contract

**A/N: So many dun dun DUN moments in this chapter, and a juicy little cliff hanger at the end ;) Shylock is up to something, that's for certain. What could his dastardly scheme be? Also, I used a couple Shakespearian terms from his play so I defined thme at the bottom. **

_Love is like a child that longs for everything it can come by._

~William Shakespeare

Chapter Five – The Contract

Antonio's first thought as he woke was: _I swear I'm going to fire whichever servant just came barging in without knocking. _But it wasn't a servant.

"Antonio! Antonio, wake up!"

Antonio was instantly fully awake at the sound of his friend's distraught voice. He groaned as he tried to sit up; he felt like he had journeyed to hell and back. He practically drank himself to death the other night, trying to numb the pain…

"Bassanio, it is too early in the morning for shouting," he said very quietly, hoping his friend would have mercy on his pounding head. Bassanio said nothing; Antonio realized that his friend's eyes were affixed on Antonio's bare torso… and the scars that crisscrossed the skin there. Blushing, Antonio quickly donned the shirt he had worn last night but didn't bother to button it. The maid would have a fresh one sent up soon.

"Whatever's the matter?" he asked Bassanio.

The slender boy blinked like he was coming out of a trance and resumed his former state of distress. "Portia's been kidnapped!"

"…_What_?" Antonio felt like Bassanio had just told him that the sky had turned green. Portia… kidnapped?

"Read it and weep!" Bassanio exclaimed melodramatically and thrust a piece of paper into Antonio's face. Antonio read it once through, and then pretended to read it again. He was really trying to make sure the emotions playing through his mind from showing on his face.

If he was being truthful with himself, his first reaction was relief and satisfaction. Portia was gone and Bassanio was free! But then he caught himself and was disgusted. How could he think so selfishly when his friend was obviously in great distress? Bassanio loved Portia very much… And Antonio wanted whatever made Bassanio happy.

Bassanio got up and began to pace in front of the bed. "What am I going to do?! I have no money; I am already in debt from the ring I gave Portia last night!" The blond boy looked at Antonio with pleading eyes and Antonio already knew what was coming. Bassanio clambered onto the bed and got too close for comfort.

"Please help me," he begged. "I know three thousand gold pieces is a huge sum even to wealth like yours, but… Antonio, I love her." A curl fell into his eyes and Antonio's hand almost moved on its own accord to push it back. He clenched it into a fist.

_My friend, you know that I would do anything if you only ask…_

"Bassanio, we have been the best of friends since our infancy. I would give you ten times that amount if I could. But until I come of age and while both of my parents live, my fortune is not to be touched by my hands. Not without written permission from my parents. My father is on the high seas."

Bassanio looked crestfallen. "And your mother is on a holiday in the American colonies, I remember…"

Antonio couldn't bear seeing him look so hopeless. He stood up and began to button the dirty shirt. "I shall write to her at once."

Bassanio's slender, pale hand reached out to grip Antonio's wrist. Antonio stiffened, staring at the hand. The grip was strong for such a delicate-looking boy, and so warm. Slowly, Antonio met Bassanio's pale blue eyes.

"No…" Bassanio murmured. "That is very kind of you, but a signed document giving you permition to give me three thousand gold pieces would not be able to travel to the American colonies and back in a month's time. And what if she should refuse to permit you to take out the money? Perhaps I can sign a contract with a usurer*."

"And sign away your soul?" Antonio protested. "I would not be a good friend if I allowed you to do that. Besides, no offense my friend, but everyone knows your tendency to… get into debt. You're a risky client- I think you will have trouble taking out a loan from a usurer."

"I can't just sit by and do nothing," Bassanio protested with more than a hint of desperation in his voice.

An idea came to Antonio, one that he was reluctant to voice. But it might be there only option.

_I really wish there was another option…_

Antonio grimaced. "There is one thing we can try…"

"What?" Bassanio asked.

"Who, actually."

"Three _thousand _gold pieces!"

"I know it is a vicious sum, cousin, but a lady's life is at stake," Antonio said gravely.

Shylock sighed and steepled his fingers. He leaned his elbows on the ornate wooden desk and rested his long digits against his thin, pale lips. "You should report this to the authorities."

"The ransom specifically says not to tell a soul!" Bassanio exploded at the older man. He turned to his best friend. "Antonio, can we really trust him?" They both knew Shylock to be a very frugal, shrewd, and rather dark person who had built up what money he had by manipulating others. Antonio hated dealing with his reclusive and usually snide cousin. Shylock gave Bassanio a bad feeling in his gut.

"Well, you've told us, haven't you?" Shylock smiled slightly.

Bassanio frowned. "That's different… maybe. I don't know, I had to tell Antonio. I needed his help… and I need yours."

"I agree with Bassanio," Antonio offered.

"Of course you do," Shylock muttered dryly.

"I'd lend him the money but you know that my parents, are away. My father has the means to pay you back as soon as he returns from Cuba."

Shylock hummed quietly. "And how long do you think that will take?"

"Two months, provided that the weather is fair," Antonio replied confidently.

"Let's just say it isn't." Shylock took out a piece of parchment, dipped his quill in a well of ink on the desk, and began to write.

"What do you mean?" Antonio asked in confusion.

"Three months," Shylock replied.

"Beg pardon?" Antonio was growing cross with his cousin's vague answers.

"It's best to expect the worst, that way you won't be disappointed," Shylock said matter-of-factly. "What if storms or other travesties delay your father? I will be gracious and give you an extra month. You have three months to pay me back the three thousand gold I am going to lend you."

"Oh, thank you, my lord!" Bassanio cried.

"Provided that Antonio agrees to my terms," Shylock added. He finished writing and sprinkled sand on the wet ink. Once it was dry he handed the parchment to Antonio. It was a simple contract, stating that upon this day Shylock would lend Antonio three thousand gold pieces gratis** for three months. After the three months were up, however…

"After the three months are up, provided I have not paid you back, you mean to take a pound of my flesh from whatever part of my body pleases you?!" Antonio exclaimed, throwing the contract back onto the desk. "Is this some sort of mockery?!"

"Those are my terms," Shylock said smoothly.

"Are you mad?!" Antonio spat. "What sort of man desires a _pound _of his kinsman's flesh should he not be able to repay his debt?!"

"Three thousand gold pieces is no light sum." Shylock replied, utterly unfazed by his cousin's anger. "I must be insured that you will pay it back."

"And if he can't?" Bassanio whispered.

"A pound of flesh, of course," Shylock sighed wearily, as if he was exhausted by the effort of communicating his terms to the boys.

"No one could survive that!" Bassanio protested.

"It's alright," Antonio said under his breath.

"But-!"

"Bassanio." It was true; if Antonio could not pay his cousin back, he would not survive a pound of flesh being removed from his body. He was no stranger to physical pain; he was not frightened of that. He would like to think he did not fear death. He'd had plenty of near-death experiences before. However, death and near-death were not the same, not by far.

He looked at his friend. Bassanio was silently pleading with him to refuse the contract. What other option did they have?

Antonio met Shylock's blue eyes. "I agree to your terms."

*usurer- In the original play (_Merchant of Venice_) this was a Jewish money lender who gave out loans to the truly desperate but charged a ridiculous interest rate. In my story usurers are not confined to one nationality.

**gratis- without interest


	6. Chapter 6 - Sealed With a Kiss

**A/N: I should probably mention this, since I haven't before… I do not own the original characters or plot line. They belong to His Epicness, Mr. William Shakespeare. With that being said, I also need to throw in a warning. The chapters so far have been very innocent but there's a little bit of bl action in this chapter so if that makes you uncomfortable, skip ahead or discontinue this reading adventure. Neither option is good because this chapter is IMPORTANT! And I want you to keep reading! This chapter was a lot of fun to write and contains one of my favorite moments :) Okay I'll shut up and let you read now :)**

_Love sought is good, but given unsought is better._

~William Shakespeare

Chapter Six – Sealed with a Kiss

"We'll be back, Shylock," Bassanio growled. He took Antonio's arm and dragged him out of the room. He slammed the door behind him and turned to face his friend. "You _can't _do this."

"My father will be back before the three months are up," Antonio said soothingly.

"I appreciate that you are willing to do this for me but… The risk is too great, Antonio! I'll get the money from a usurer."

"No usurer will give you a bond for three thousand gold pieces, you know that," Antonio sighed. "That's too risky for them."

"Then I'll go to the authorities!" Bassanio exclaimed.

Antonio arched a skeptic eyebrow. "And risk Portia's life? I've made up my mind about this. I'll sign the bond and pay that cur off when my father returns. You just worry about getting Portia back."

Bassanio opened his mouth to protest but shut it again. Antonio was as stubborn as a mule, that's how he always had been. "Is there no other way?"

"I think this might be our only option," Antonio said quietly.

Bassanio leaned against the wall and covered his eyes with one hand. "I was a fool to drag you into this. I am so sorry."

"Bassanio," Antonio's voice was a lot sharper than he had intended. "Don't apologize for anything, you'll injure my feelings. It is the sovereign duty of friends to come to each other's aid in times of need."

"Then why is it that you are always coming to my aid and not I to yours?" Bassanio retorted, his face still hidden.

"Because you simply cause more trouble than I do," Antonio smiled. "And you are mistaken. You have come to my aid many times before."

"Name one!" Bassanio challenged him, finally meeting Antonio's gaze with fierce anger in his moist eyes.

"Well, there was… Let me see… Ah, remember the first time we met?"

Bassanio frowned, trying to remember back to the days when they had been just boys. "Yes… It was in the market square. You had wandered off from your manservant and had been attacked by a pick pocket. He gave you that…" Bassanio motioned to the faint white scar on Antonio's cheekbone under his left eye.

"You patched me up and helped me find my servant," Antonio smiled, amused by the memory of Bassanio's wide eyes, even wider as a child, when he had seen the bloody cut on Antonio's face. The must have been five summers old at that time.

"Then you took me home and my family started working for yours," Bassanio smiled slightly.

"And you've been patching me up ever since," Antonio finished.

"You wouldn't need patching up if you weren't always getting me out of fights," Bassanio muttered.

"Sure I would," Antonio protested. "If I wasn't fighting your fights I would be off finding my own."

Bassanio said nothing. He reached up and brushed his fingertips along the old, faded scar. Antonio suppressed a shudder and focused to keep his breathing calm. He wanted to look somewhere else besides the blue depths of Bassanio's eyes, but he could not look away. He was mesmerized.

"Never could I ever begin to deserve your friendship," Bassanio murmured. He leaned forward, hesitated, then stood on his tip toes and pressed his lips to Antonio's.

Antonio's entire body stiffened. He felt dizzy, or like he could barely see. Bassanio's lips were soft and warm. He wanted to grab Bassanio and hold him, trap him in his arms so he could never leave and never go back to Portia.

But Bassanio broke the chaste kiss. It wasn't enough- too brief, too sudden. The hunger that Antonio struggled every day to push down deep inside of him surged to the surface. It was all he could do not to shove his friend against the wall.

Bassanio offered him a shy, slightly embarrassed smile and disappeared back into Shylock's study. Antonio let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. He leaned against the wall and placed his head in his hands. The wanting, the obsessive thoughts, the dreams and fantasies… They were about to get so much worse, he just knew it.

Why a kiss? Of all the ways to show his gratitude, why had Bassanio chosen that devastating act?

His heart was beating wildly and his face felt hot. Everything that he hadn't done or said in that crucial moment looped over and over in his head at lightning speed. That had been his chance, why hadn't he done _something_?! He had just stood there like a corpse, cold and stiff.

Antonio looked at the door of the study. _They're going to wonder where I am, _he thought resignedly. All thoughts of the risks of signing that contract were gone, erased from his mind. He straightened up, took a deep breath, and walked in.

Shylock was melting wax for the seal that would make the contract a binding legal document. Antonio glanced at his friend. Bassanio's eyes were sky blue seas churning with mixed signals: pleading and gratitude and fear and apology... And a question.

_Why?_

Antonio squared his shoulders and faced his cousin. "Where do I sign?"

* * * *

Once the contract was signed and sealed with Antonio's signet ring, Shylock and Antonio ventured down to a notary*. Bassanio left to prepare for the journey to Zeus's Pyre. It was a long way away, thirteen days ride if they stuck to the main roads. With three thousand gold pieces that was a risky chance to take, so they would have to stay in the trees and mountains. There was a lower risk of being robbed if they took this route, but thieves would still be a danger to their caravan.

Bassanio would be travelling with the Romano family's personal guard that came with them when they met with dignitaries or did any travelling whatsoever. Antonio longed to go with his friend, to protect him, but the contract stated that Antonio must remain within the city limits until the debt was repaid.

As night fell Antonio waited outside of his manor with his strongest horse, upon which two chests were strapped. The gold was nestled amongst a few of his mother's dresses, which would hopefully deter thieves. The caravan was going to set off at nightfall, it would be safer that way.

The bell in the cathedral tolled _Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!_ Right on schedule, a lone horseman on a black horse appeared at the gate. Antonio whistled and his guard, five men on horseback with supplies packed on their horses, trotted from around the corner of the house. The lone horseman galloped up and as he skidded to a halt in front of Antonio, he threw back his hood and Bassanio's blond curls tumbled out.

Antonio met his friend's gaze briefly but looked away as memory of their kiss flooded his mind. His cheeks were hot and even though the night was cool his palms were sweaty.

"Do you have everything?" Antonio asked, getting to his feet.

"I believe so," Bassanio's voice shook a little. Was that the moonlight or did his face look a little pale? "I wish you could come with me."

"I would, if only the bond didn't keep me here," Antonio assured him, tethering the horse carrying the gold to Bassanio's horse. His stomach was knotted with worry. What if bandits saw the trunks and were not fooled by the dresses? What if his guard could not protect Bassanio? He suddenly had a terrible vision of his friend, laying on the forest floor… his curls stained with blood… his blue eyes glazed over and staring sightlessly at the sun.

Antonio caught his breath and shook his head to get rid of the horrible vision.

"Are you alright?" Bassanio asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

Antonio considered lying for a moment; when had he gotten into the habit of lying to his best friend so much? "No… I'm worried."

Bassanio smiled gently. "Don't worry; we will reach Portia in time and save her."

Antonio's mouth suddenly tasted bitter, like metal. _That's not why I'm worried, you fool._

"Safe travels, my friend," he said, reaching up to his best friend. Bassanio reached down and gripped Antonio's arm just before the elbow; his slender fingers did not touch while Antonio's hand easily wrapped around Bassanio's slender forearm.

Their eyes met, light blue and storm grey, identical in the moonless night. They pulled away and Bassanio's pale fingers lingered on Antonio's callused, rough palm for just a second. Aware of this guard's eyes on them, Antonio quickly snatched his hand back and then cursed himself for being so obvious about it.

Bassanio seemed slightly vexed by the movement for a moment. "I pray for your father's swift return. Farewell, for now… I can never thank you enough, my friend."

"_Please_ be careful," Antonio whispered for only Bassanio to hear. The desperation in his voice was humiliating, but Antonio needed his friend to know how important it was that he returned safely.

Bassanio nodded gravely. He looked to the guards and they fell into formation around him and the horse carrying the gold. They set off at a gallop for the hedges that would give way to the forest at the back of Antonio's property. They wouldn't be able to ride in formation like that once they got to the forest- it would look too suspicious.

Antonio watched them after they were out of sight. He stood there on the steps of the manor until he could no longer hear the hoof beats of the horses. In the silence he sank to the steps as loneliness overwhelmed him.

In Neo Venice, it was forbidden for a man to love another man. It wasn't Christian, it was witch craft, it was disgusting… He had grown up knowing all of this, so why? Why could he not get Bassanio out of his mind?

He had noticed over the past year that one day, he wasn't sure when, protecting Bassanio suddenly became about something more than sticking up for his friend. For some reason, Bassanio's laugh made him breathless and he would do anything at all to hear that laugh. His tendency to back himself into a corner seemed endearing, not annoying like it used to. He began to have dreams of Bassanio that were embarrassingly intimate. His childhood friend was always in his thoughts…

And then there was the feeling like he was going to die when Bassanio met Portia at the first public dance he attended at a member of society, and they had danced… _four _times. Portia was the most stunning creature at the dance and every man wanted the privilege of being her partner. The fact that the eldest Belmont girl danced four times with the boy who had been a pesky trouble-making servant only months ago had been the talk of the town.

And then they had fallen in love. A piece of Antonio died a little every time he saw them kiss. He had convinced himself for a few days once that it was Portia he loved, and that was why seeing them together upset him so. But he was a terrible liar, even when he was lying to himself.

And now they were engaged to be _married_…

Antonio put his head in his hands; thinking about it made him feel physically ill. _Sweet Bassanio… My heart rebels when my head follows the law. Why did you torture me with a kiss?_

He could never tell Bassanio how he felt. Was he doomed to die alone and miserable while Bassanio had a full and happy life with Portia? Maybe the kidnapping had been a sign… Maybe it had been a chance he had missed. Bassanio didn't reciprocate Antonio's feelings, that much was obvious. That kiss had been… A 'thank you.' Nothing more.

It would never be anything more.

*notary- like a bank


	7. Chapter 7 - A Sister's Love

**A/N: I get toproperly introduce a new character in this (longish) chapter! Yay :3 Been wondering about Shylock's schemes? Well you won't be wondering much longer ;) Also I had my wisdom teeth removed yesterday so I should be able to write a little while I'm recooperating. Thanks for the reviews and follows so far!**

_Speak low if you speak love._

~William Shakespeare

Chapter Seven – A Sister's Love

Portia's stomach felt like it was caving in on itself. Like it was going to shrivel up into a tiny ball inside of her. The pain was a throbbing ache that only worsened with every gurgle in her gut. She looked down at the bowl of gruel by her feet.

She had refused it several times, but Shylock would not feed her anything else. As she stared at it, definitely entertaining the idea of eating a few bites to quell the howling in her stomach, something MOVED in the gruel. Her stomach was empty but she still gaged and tasted bile in her mouth.

She looked at Shylock, who had his back to her and was paying her no attention. He had pulled a small table in front of the fire, probably so there would be ample light for Portia to watch him feast. He had a small game bird like a grouse or pheasant that dropped with juice, aromatic bread, cheese, and wine. Watching him eat only made her hunger that much sharper. It was unbearable.

"Might I… have some of that food?" Portia asked timidly.

Shylock set is goblet down very, very slowly. He turned his head slightly in her direction. "The porridge isn't good enough for you?" His voice was quiet but those words held an unspoken threat.

A thrill of fear rushed through Portia like the blood in her veins had been replaced with ice water. Shylock was a powerful sorcerer… he could probably do that.

"I am sorry…" she whispered meekly. Shylock paused for a moment longer, and Portia prayed that he would not get up and strike her for her insolence. Again. But the evil man went back to eating and Portia was forced to watch him. She was so hungry…

Why couldn't she be strong? Bassanio would be cursing Shylock in a ceaseless flow of every foul word under the sun, and demanding food in between. He probably would have found a way to escape by now, too- No, Antonio would have come for him by now.

_Is anyone coming for me?_

She suddenly remembered something her twin had told her once, when they were both little girls. She had been going to one of the barns on the grounds of the Belmont manor against her father's wishes. He said the barn wasn't safe and it wasn't ladylike to be going into barns anyway. Nerissa openly defied their father and went to the barn, and the previous evening she had come inside all smudgy and dirty and full of stories of a litter of kittens near the chicken coop. Only the chickens were kept in the old barn because the floors would break under any heavier livestock.

Portia desperately wanted to see the kittens so one afternoon she snuck out to the old barn. As she was sneaking toward the coop she stepped on a rotten board and her right leg fell through the floor and into the barn's cellar. Portia screamed and cried because her leg had been scraped and it hurt. She tried to get up but her dress was stuck. The cellar air was cold on her leg.

She stayed quiet for a few minutes. If she cried someone would hear her eventually but she would also get in big trouble. After about ten minutes that stopped mattering and she just wanted to not be stuck anymore so she wailed for her father. It wasn't her father who answered her cries.

"What in the name of Hades are you doing, Tia?" Portia turned around to see a little boy dressed in tattered, dirty overalls standing right behind her. Only Nerissa called her Tia… and only Nerissa hung out with the foul-mouthed cooks.

"Nerissa?" Portia asked cautiously. The boy grinned and took off his hat. Long, dark hair tumbled out and two dark green eyes sparkled with mischief at her. "Oh Nessy, it is you! Help me!"

Nerissa's grin slipped into a frown. "No."

…What?!

"No?! Nessy I'm really stuck!" Portia was going to start crying again.

"No you're really not," Nerissa insisted. "Tia… you've got to learn to get yourself out of trouble all on your own."

"But…"

"Rip your dress," Nerissa said firmly.

"But-!"

"Yes, I know mother will be mad. It's the only way you're going to get out of here."

After a little more pressuring from Nerissa, Portia finally ripped her dress away from the shards of wood. It wasn't a pretty sight and their mother had been livid, and for a few days Portia wouldn't speak to Nerissa because she was so angry that her sister had not helped her.

_I'm as helpless now as I was back then… Nothing's changed, I'm still… Pathetic._

"Tia, you've got to learn to get out of trouble all on your own," Portia murmured to herself.

"What was that?" Shylock asked with a threatening edge in his voice.

Portia swallowed; her mouth was as dry as parchment. "I said…" She could be brave, too. Her situation seemed hopeless, but… Shylock was an egomaniac. If she could get him talking, maybe he would tell her of his plans. Maybe she could talk him out of it… Maybe.

"I said… I asked why you are keeping me here. Is it for the money? My family will pay you whatever you desire in exchange for my safe return."

Shylock gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Oh, I will take a hefty ransom out on you, but not from your family."

"Do you not already have a large sum to your name?" Portia asked in confusion. Once she thought about it she could recall seeing Shylock at several events hosted my Antonio's parents, and nowhere had she seen any evidence of poverty in Shylock.

Shylock stood and faced the fire. "My wealth is nothing compared to the wealth my pathetic cousin will inherit when my uncle dies…" He turned to drill Portia with his cold gaze. "Did you know that if Antonio were dead, it would all go to me?"

It slowly dawned on Portia what Shylock was getting at, and a feeling of horror settled over her. "Do you mean to murder your own cousin?"

Shylock barked out a rough laugh. "Oh no, my dear lady! If I were to murder Antonio, I would be hanged long before I could inherit a single gold piece."

"Then why are you telling me this? Why have you taken _me _if your grudge is against Antonio?"

Shylock seemed to consider this for a moment. "My cousin may seem hard on the outside, but he is as loyal as the day is long and cares deeply about those close to him."

"I know," Portia said fiercely. "He is a good man and a good friend to Bassanio, my betrothed.

Shylock smiled. "Seeing Bassanio distressed about you being in danger would break my cousin's lily-livered heat. He would do anything to help Bassanio… even sign a contract giving me full legal permission to kill him should Lord Romano not return in time to pay back the money I am lending them for your ransom. What Antonio doesn't know is that I intercepted a letter for him- His father's ship has sunken. Lord Romano and his ship lie at the bottom of the ocean. Now there is no way Antonio will be able to pay off the bond, ensuring that I have claim on his life."

Portia felt sick at heart. Poor Antonio… his father was dead and he had no idea. And his kin was trying to _murder_ him. "You're a horrible, vile man!" Shylock smiled and took a drink of his wine. Portia gathered her courage: "You won't get away with this! I… I'll find a way to stop you!

Shylock laughed. "My dear, by the time you leave this place, you won't remember a single thing I've said."

All night, Bassanio and his guard rode as hard as stealth would allow. As the sky began to lighten they too shelter in a cave in a rock outcropping near the river. The guards took shifts watching for danger so Bassanio could sleep for a while.

The sun rose and shone hot in the sky but Bassanio's dreams were dark and hazy. He was cold and scared. He wandered through the dark, searching for something (probably Portia), but he felt like he was waist deep in quick sand. It was hard to move and hard to breathe. He began to panic-

He gasped when one of the guards, Salanio was his name, woke him for his shift as lookout. Bassanio still felt exhausted even though the sun was high in the sky. He reluctantly removed himself from his cot and shook the leaves and bugs out of his hair. His back ached from the hard ground and the rocks under his cot.

_What I wouldn't give for my bed right now…_

Salanio fell asleep with the other guards and Bassanio sat just inside the entrance of the cave with his rapier on his lap. The burbling of the nearby stream and the dappled sunlight began to work a hypnotic spell on him. His eyes were so heavy; he began to drift off…

"Bassanio…"

His eyes flashed open. Someone had hissed his name; it sounded like a woman… And then he saw a flash of movement deep in the woods.

"Portia?" he whispered.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Salanio had woken up and was looking at him with concern.

"No, no…" But then Bassanio heard his name again and this time he _knew _he wasn't dreaming. "I thought I saw something; I'm going to go check it out."

"Should we come with you?" Salanio asked.

"No, stay here," Bassanio insisted. "I won't be gone long." Salanio reluctantly nodded and took up Bassanio's post at the entrance of the cave.

Bassanio was not formally trained in the arts of swordsmanship or stealth as his friend Antonio was. It always had a little backwards with them. Bassanio, while he was Antonio's manservant, should have been training in the deadly arts so he would have been able to protect his master. Bassanio had begun to train with a master swordsman but it was obvious that even with persistent and rigorous training, Bassanio would never have any skill with a sword or any other weapon.

Antonio's father wanted to find his only heir a new manservant, one who was older and would be able to protect him. Antonio fought his father's decision with a fierceness that Lord Romano had never seen in his son before. Antonio had started training in secret long before Bassanio had, and he proved to his father that he could take care of himself by defeating three grown men in fencing at the age of eight. Lord Romano agreed to let Bassanio keep his position if Antonio swore to continue his training on into adulthood.

Antonio became a master and, once Bassanio was no longer his manservant, Antonio became something of a teacher, too. Once and a while he would show Bassanio a defense maneuver with a knife or a stealth trick.

It was one such trick that Bassanio put into practice as he moved through the trees. He moved from tree to tree, only choosing the ones that had a thick enough circumference to conceal his body (this was easy since the trees were many and his body was slender). H kept his eyes affixed on the spot where he'd seen the shadow, looking down only briefly to plot a silent course though the twigs and dried leaves. The grass was thick and lush; this was also a lucky break.

He saw another flash of movement to his left, what looked like a cape, and quickly set off after it. As he moved further away from the stream the trees got thicker and taller and the woods got darker. His sightings of the caped figure became closer and more frequent.

Bassanio soon forgot all about stealth and began to run after the person. Twigs snapped under his boots but he paid the noise no heed. The figure seemed to be ghost-like, moving invisibly from tree to tree, seen just long enough to encourage a chase.

Finally, it led Bassanio to a large clearing and stopped, turning to face him. Bassanio could see that the figure was small and wearing a hood that concealed his face. His cape dragged along the forest floor. He wore a broadsword belted to his left hip.

"Who are you?" Bassanio demanded, quite breathless from the chase. As an afterthought he brandished his rapier. He realized that his rapier was going to do him about as much good as a slender stick if the hooded man was any good with his broadsword. He also realized that the figure had lured him too far away from the safety of the guards. Even if they did hear him scream, they would never reach him in time. His heart began to race with fear.

Had he just stumbled like a bumbling fool into a trap?

"You look frightened, Bassanio," the hooded figure observed, and Bassanio nearly dropped his sword in shock. The voice coming from the shadowy depths of the hood was that of a _woman! _And a familiar voice at that, but he couldn't quite place it…

"How do you know my name?" he barked, lifting his sword once more. The woman didn't answer, so he asked, "By what name are you known?"

The woman pulled her hood back, and Bassanio was confused once more by the young boy that was revealed to him. The boy had wild blond hair and large green eyes that struck a familiar cord within him. His lips were also full, too full for a boy… The person reached up, grasped his/her hair, and pulled. The blond hair, a wig, came off to reveal long black hair that tumbled down her shoulders in a glossy wave.

"Nerissa!" Bassanio gasped, lowering his sword. Nerissa was the mirror image of her twin sister, but Bassanio knew them both so well that they were as different as night and day to him.

Indeed, Nerissa's full lips pulled into her characteristic sly smile. "I had you scared for a second there, brother."

Bassanio let out a breath of relief that he hadn't known he had been holding. "I'm not your brother yet… Wait, what are you doing here?!"

"Really, Bassanio?" Nerissa arched one ebony eyebrow at him. "My beloved sister goes missing and suddenly you decide to go off on an adventure with Antonio Romano's personal guard? The village idiot could put those two puzzle pieces together. You're going to rescue my sister. I've been following you all night; I want to help."

Bassanio sighed. "We are carrying much gold-"

"A ransom?" Nerissa asked.

"Yes, and therefore will inevitably attract bandits. It is too dangerous of a journey for a woman-"

"I am more skilled with a sword than any many in Neo Venice," Nerissa snapped. She took two deliberate steps toward Bassanio, drew her sword, slashed at him, and sheathed her blade again before Bassanio had time to stumble back. He landed on his butt with a cry of indignant surprise. A single golden curl fell from his head to his lap.

"You could have cut me open!" Bassanio cried, clutching his neck.

"You are exactly right," Nerissa nodded gravely. "I could have. I _will _be joining your party, Bassanio, only you must not let on that I am a woman and an heir of Belmont. The guards have their hands full pampering one useless brat." Her grin showed that she was only teasing, but Bassanio was still cross about the example she had made of him.

"What shall I call you, then?" he muttered.

Nerissa began to pin her long hair back into place. Bassanio could not help but notice that she must have wrapped her chest to hide her considerable bust. She donned the dirty wig. With the man's clothing that probably had belonged to one of her servants, she looked nothing like a girl. Just a very pretty boy.

"You shall call me Thomas," she replied. "I am a tracker that you will be hiring when you stop in Havensport; it's just a day's journey from here. I will join your party then."

Bassanio frowned. "Why would I hire a tracker?"

Nerissa looked like she was ready to take another swing at him with her blade. "To close the gap between you and the kidnapper, of course! He has only a day's lead on you, maybe two; I am not the best tracker but I can help you pick up his tracks. If we can ambush him we might be able to get Portia back, no ransom needed."

Bassanio frowned. "The possibility never occurred to me… that we could track the kidnapper. I assumed he would be waiting at Zeus' Pyre for us…"

"Zeus' Pyre?! That's leagues away! Surely you are not thinking that he is there right now? He has to get there by horse or carriage, same as you or I!"

Bassanio said nothing as he got to his feet and brushed his breeches off. He hadn't thought of that…

"Fool," Nerissa muttered. "I will go back to where I found Portia's carriage… It was overturned; the horses and her coachmen were slaughtered. It looked like a griffin attack… except that I found wolf prints. Large ones. I will track them as close to Havensport as I can. Meet me there two nights from now. You will continue to travel by night, yes?"

"That is what Antonio advised we do," Bassanio said.

"Hm," Nerissa frowned. "In cave country, yes… It is better to rest in the caves during the day. The inhabitants of the caves come out at night. But when you leave the caves you'd best travel during the day. Robbers are more active during the night."

Bassanio nodded slowly, wondering if Antonio would agree with this advice.

She squinted at him. "You should have brought Antonio with you; I have been hunting with him before. He is an excellent tracker and a proficient swordsman." Nerissa hated to admit it, but she had never won a duel against Antonio yet. "Why isn't he here? That boy may be your superior but he is as loyal to you as the day is long. I should think it would take an act of God to keep him at home while you are here."

"Not an act of God… an act of a devil," Bassanio muttered darkly.

Nerissa rested a hand on her blade. Her green eyes flashed in the dim light. "Please explain."


	8. Chapter 8 - Fear of Death

**A/N: I have the feeling that very soon I might start reusing quotes on accident… If I do this just let me know!**

_Love is a smoke and is made with the fume of sighs._

~William Shakespeare

Chapter Eight – Fear of Death

Antonio stared down at the drink in front of him. The wooden mug made the ale look black instead of murky brown. He could see his own bleak expression staring up at him with hollow eyes ringed by shadows. He had once read in a dusty tome in his father's library about a communication technique used by sorcerers of old called scrying. The ability to see anyone, anywhere… and all you needed was reflective liquid. He mouthed Bassanio's name. Of course, nothing happened. The reflection in the ale was his and his alone. Magic was a foolish notion, a whimsical legend.

"Antonio," Gratiano dead-panned. "The rain cloud over your head is getting my new clothes wet."

"Oh let him be," a passing tavern maid chided Gratiano. She was a pretty thing, slightly plump and rosy cheeked. Her hair was the color of winter wheat and always in bouncy ringlets. Giorgina; that was her name.

Graciano chuckled as Giorgina walked off to collect and/or refill empty mugs. "She has her eye on you, she does. Imagine what your father would say to you courting a tavern maiden!" Gratiano fell into hysterics; Antonio tuned him out. He was clutching his drink so hard that his knuckles had turned white.

"Did someone just walk on your grave?" Gratiano asked sarcastically when he saw Antonio's pained and slightly panicked expression.

"I think so," Antonio muttered. He certainly felt as if something was terribly wrong.

Gratiano was miraculously quiet for a few seconds. Then, in a surprisingly quiet and serious voice, he asked: "How far if it to Zeus's Pyre?"

"That depends on if you have a safe journey," interjected a burly stranger with a red beard and scarred arms that sat beside Antonio, "or if you are waylaid by bandits."

Antonio felt as if this constant worrying would be the death of him. He drained his mug of the ale, which might as well have been sand for all the good it did, and let out a long sigh. "Let us pray that doesn't happen…"

Bassanio dove behind a tree trunk, gasping for air and clutching his rapier with two trembling hands. Sweat ran down his face in rivulets that stung when they dripped into his eyes. He was dirty and scratched, with one particularly painful cut on his upper arm. His heart was pounding hard and fast; he had never been so brutally, blindingly terrified in his life.

Bassanio had explained the situation with Antonio, and why he could not come on this rescue mission. Nerissa had been infuriated, saying her family could have easily afforded that sum, but she understood why Bassanio had not come to them. After Bassanio left her, he returned to the guards and told them that he'd had a "revelation." They might be able to cut the kidnapper off before Zeus' pyre, so they were going to find a tracker and a guide in Haven the next night. Frankly he was a little embarrassed that he had not thought of this- but in his defense, neither had anyone else!

They found Nerissa (disguised as Thomas) in Haven and Bassanio made a good show of pretending not to know her. He hired her and she joined the party. But as the guards were looking for an inn and stable for the horses, Nerissa pulled Bassanio aside and revealed some very bad news. The kidnapper's trail went cold just a few feet from Portia's overturned carriage. She was absolutely certain of this; an animal as big as the one that slaughtered her coachmen and horses would be easy to track. They were going to have to go all the way to Zeus's Pyre unless they picked up the kidnapper's trail by some miracle.

And so they continued their journey, with Nerissa (Thomas) telling the guards that she was looking for the trail. They left cave country and began to travel by day through the patchy forest beyond. This is where they were travelling when they were attacked in broad daylight by gypsies. They were not like the gypsies he had heard about from travelers who stopped at the taverns in Neo Venice. They were not unkempt, barbaric, and stupid. Bassanio and his guard hadn't known they were surrounded until every tree around them suddenly produced a long-haired, heavily armed man.

There were twenty men in this gypsy band, seven in Bassanio's group including himself and Nerissa. The leader of the group calmly requested all of their possessions and the horses, and when Bassanio had refused, they attacked.

The horses seemed to give the guards and Nerissa an advantage, but Bassanio (who could not fight anyway) felt himself clumsily trying to defend himself and his horse when he could barely reach his adversaries from that high up. So he had dismounted as quickly as possible and from there his basic need to survive took over.

He knew of stories where the hero defeats a thousand foes because he his protecting a person or people he loves. Bassanio would have thought he would find the strength to fight because he needed to stay alive and save Portia, his love.

No. When that first gypsy charged at him with sword in hand and murder in his black eyes, Bassanio thought not of Portia or any of his other friends or family. He thought not of rescuing anyone or saving anything. What filled his body and moved his arms to block and attack was pure, unaudited _fear. _Fear of the man intent on killing him, fear of the blade in his hands.

Fear of the unknown: Death.

His movements were sloppy but fast and effective. Death pulsed in his mind over and over, offering two options: kill or be killed. Forcing him to choose the former repeatedly. There was no time for hesitation; his fear blinded him to sympathy or mercy. Not even the sound of the battle raging around him could penetrate that thick wall of fear around him.

He had no idea what he was doing. Instinct had completely taken over him. Bassanio cut down two gypsy men before coming face to face with the leader of the gypsy band. Suddenly the danger seemed so much more real. He sensed that clumsy blocks and hasty, violent attacks would not win him this fight. The leader had a cool, calm demeanor about him… Maybe it was the way he held his saber. It abruptly reminded Bassanio of Antonio before a duel: confident but not overly so. Prepared. Skilled.

It became clear very soon that Bassanio was horrendously outmatched. He received a cut on the arm and a bruise in the leg and he could tell that the leader of the gypsies was merely toying with him. He broke away as soon as he could and dove behind a tree, scared witless and unable to come up with a strategy.

"Call off your men, boy," the gypsy leader called to him. "I wish you no harm, and no harm will come to you if you surrender now."

"I cannot!" Bassanio called shakily. "Please, I beg you… We're on a rescue mission!"

"If you are trying to trick me- Ack!" The leader made a choking, gurgling sound. The sound of a sword sliding through flesh was followed by a sickening thud. Bassanio came out from behind his tree to see Nerissa standing over the bleeding body of the gypsy leader with a bleeding sword in her hand.

"Don't try to reason with gypsies," she scoffed. "And don't hide like a coward. Fight!"

With that she dove back into the fight, slashing and blocking and shrieking like a banshee. Bassanio had only a moment to watch her in awe before he was attacked head on by another gypsy. This man saw his dead leader near Bassanio and attacked him with the rage of grief. In two powerful blows he sent Bassanio's rapier flying. The man kicked Bassanio in the chest and then pinned him to the ground with one boot. The man pointed the sword at Bassanio's heart; there was no mercy in his eyes. Only grief and hatred.

"He was my father," the man spat, jerking his chin to the leader's body.

"I did not kill him!" Bassanio gasped. He was aware that he was begging for his life like a coward but he did not care. He was terrified that this man would end his life. He would say anything…

"A life for a life," the man growled.

"Bassanio!" Nerissa screamed. She was locked in combat with two gypsies and could not come to his aide. She ducked away from an attack and her wig fell to the ground. Her long hair flew all around but she did not let this distract her. Her green eyes flashed as brightly as her blade. She stepped forward to attack and jumped back to parry with the grace of a dancer and the lethal accuracy of a snake's strike.

She was stunning to watch.

Suddenly Bassanio realized that he was not the only one watching Nerissa fight. The gypsy leader's son seemed to have forgotten about avenging his father; he seemed to have forgotten that Bassanio was underneath him at all. He was captivated by Nerissa's hypnotic dance of death.

Swiftly, Bassanio drew the dagger in his belt and drove it into the man's calf. The man screamed and fell back, dropping his sword to clutch his bleeding leg. Bassanio scrambled to his feet and grabbed the sword. He held it against the man's throat, but could not bring himself to end his life. An idea struck him like a bolt from heaven.

"Call off your men," Bassanio commanded breathlessly. The man glared up at him defiantly and said not a word. Bassanio held the point to the man's heart and jabbed him just hard enough to hurt. "_Call off your men or I will run you through_!"

The man seemed to weigh his options for a moment, but another jab from Bassanio hurried up his decision. He raised both of his hands and shouted a couple of phrases in what sounded like Spanish. The gypsies dropped their swords and Nerissa and the three remaining guards stopped their attacks. One gypsy slowly came over and helped the leader's son up. They backed into the trees and disappeared without another word.

"We should have just finished them off," one of the guards muttered resentfully. "Now we have to worry about a vengeful gypsy band attacking us as soon as we turn our backs…"

"It was a smart move," Nerissa argued. "If Bassanio hadn't demanded their retreat they would have killed us all." This seemed ironic to Bassanio; the ground around Nerissa was littered with six bodies. Including the leader… well, who knew how many of the fallen gypsies had died by her hand?

She noticed that they were all staring at her and she threw back her shoulders defiantly. "Yes, I am a girl. I am Nerissa of House Belmont and Lady Portia is my sister. I insisted that Bassanio allow me to join your party so I could help rescue my beloved sister. Does anyone have a problem with this?" She stared at each of the three guards challengingly.

After a long, tense moment, Salanio stepped forward and knelt before Nerissa. "M'lady, you fight with the ferocity of a dragon. We would be honored for you to join our party. Pray, who was your teacher?"

"A dragon," Nerissa replied with a grin. The guards laughed. Bassanio moved to the body of one of the guards. He pressed his fingers to the man's neck and felt no pulse there. This was not surprising by the look of the grievous gut wound he had received. Bassanio said a prayer for his soul and thanked him for his service before moving to the second fallen guard. They had also assumed him dead but as Bassanio felt his pulse the man gasped and opened his eyes.

"Tubal is alive!" Salanio gasped, and they all rushed over to him.

"Where are you hurt?" Bassanio asked.

"My head," Tubal groaned and with his right hand touched the goose egg forming on his brow. "Otherwise I think I am whole, my lord." He tried to sit up but cried out in pain. He clutched his left arm and his hand came away wet and red.

"I'll take care of him," Salanio said, helping Tubal stand and supporting him as they made their way back to where the horses were standing restlessly after their riders had abandoned them. While he bandaged Tubal's arm, the others looted the bodies for money and weapons and one valuable map of the forest and plains.

After a few minutes, Salanio rejoined them. "Tubal is gravely injured and we've lost two of the horses."

Bassanio laid out the map they had found. "We passed by Mantua a few days ago. If we double back we can get Tubal a doctor and fresh horses."

"Do we have time for such a detour?" Nerissa asked.

"Do we have a choice?" Bassanio asked her in return. "Tubal might die if we don't get him medical attention."

"Portia WILL die if we don't get to Zeus' Pyre in time!" Nerissa snapped. "We only have a fortnight left. We can't afford to go back!"

Bassanio looked at Tubal, whose bandages were already soaked in red. If he lost much more blood he could die… This man had a wife and a family, he had said so around the fire the other night…

"Salanio," Bassanio said quietly , "take a horse and go with Tubal back to Mantua. The rest of us will carry on to Zeus' Pyre."

"Sir, that isn't safe!" Salanio protested.

Bassanio looked at Nerissa. "I am in good hands. She is right; we must go on."

Sleep was being fickle for Antonio. When it was night his dreams were brief and dark and filled with fear. When it was day time and his father's business needed tending to, he had no energy and could barely stay awake. He was short tempered with his servants and too listless to participate in his daily swordsmanship practice. He felt drained and sick all the time.

It was almost a fortnight away from Bassanio's deadline. Antonio had not slept that night or many nights before. He knew he was not doing himself any good by worrying; they still had a lot of time to get to Zeus's Pyre. What was troubling him was that he had no idea if his friend was on the road and well or… Or if they was run into trouble…

"My lord?" The tiny voice of one of his newer servants, a girl no older than twelve, startled him. He hadn't realized she was following him as he made his way to his study.

"Yes, what is it?" he snapped, and then winced. "I did not mean to snap at you, I'm sorry…"

"The Duke and Duchess of Rutland are here," the maid mumbled, adding in a hasty curtsy as an afterthought. "I have them in the upstairs parlor with tea. Shall I tell them you are on your way?"

"Tell them…" The thought of discussing business with British so-and-so's was almost enough to make him collapse.

"If I may say so, my lord…" the maid said timidly, "you look ill. Is there anything I can bring you?"

"Tea, please," Antonio sighed. "And have one of the footmen convey my deepest apologies. I am not feeling well."

"Of course, my lord," the maid curtsied again and scurried off. Antonio sighed again; he noticed that he was doing an awful lot of that these days. He knew blowing off a Duke would come back to bite him in the ass later. If he was going to run his father's company one day we would need to learn to prioritize the business over his personal life. That day was not today.

He just needed a rest, but he realized as soon as he opened the door to his study that he was not going to be getting it any time soon.

"What are you doing here, Shylock?" he muttered, glaring at his cousin who was leaning against Antonio's desk. Shylock: Just popping in for a visit.

"You never 'pop in for a visit'," Antonio replied icily. "If you've come to warn me that I have less than a month and a half before my time is up, I haven't forgotten."

"Any word from my esteemed uncle?" Shylock asked in an innocently curious voice.

Antonio glared at Shylock for a long moment before answering. "…None."

Shylock smirked. "What about Bassanio? What news of him?"

Antonio's temper flared suddenly and violently. He threw the door open so hard that it cracked the wall where the knob hit. "NONE! NOW WILL YOU PLEASE GET OUT?!"

Shylock let out a low chuckle; Antonio had a sneaking suspicion that his misery brought Shylock great amusement or pleasure. He straightened up leisurely and began to walk out.

"Farewell, dear cousin," Shylock murmured low as he passed Antonio, who was quaking in pent up anger. Shylock closed the door, which had developed an unfortunate squeak thanks to Antonio's outburst, behind him.

Antonio collapsed into one of the chairs opposite his desk and dropped his head into his hands. Exhaustion and worry and anger and a growing fear, a fear that his father might not get back in time. A month and a half was a long time, but he had never even received word that his father had arrived at his destination in the first place, or how the trades had gone. What if the ship had gone down?

Antonio dug his hands into his hair. He felt as if he were drowning, flailing helplessly. He felt his life and everything he loved slipping away. He felt the darkness closing in. More than anything… More than anything he just wanted someone to talk to. Someone to tell him that everything would be okay…

Normally he would turn to Nerissa; even though she was a lady she was as easy to talk to as a man and kept his secrets better than a casket. He suspected that she knew how he felt about Bassanio but she never said anything. She had been missing since the morning after Bassanio left on his mission. Antonio knew that she had figured out what Bassanio was planning to do and had gone after him. She was a fighter; he could not ask for anyone better to protect his dear friend.

Gratiano would offer him no comfort. He would just get under his skin, like he had at the tavern…

Antonio stiffened. Swallowing a strange guilt that roiled in his stomach like bad meat, he stood up and grabbed his coat. There was someone he could talk to, someone he knew would listen.

He chose to walk so his servants would not make a fuss out of him leaving and raise suspicions with the Duke and Duchess. By the time he reached the tavern it was dark outside. The place was loud and bustling with activity. He shoved his way through the crowd until he reached the bar. Giorgina looked up as he sat down before her. Her face lit up at first but then fell as she saw the look on his face.

"That's the look of a man with a heavy heart," she said softly.

"I feel as if I am losing my mind, Giorgina," he sighed.

"Hmm," she murmured, regarding him with an oddly critical expression. She shouted over her shoulder, "Jasper! I am taking my break."

A man's voice shouted back, "Make it quick, girl!"

Giorgina glanced around to see if anyone was watching and slipped a small green bottle into her apron. She winked at Antonio. "This calls for something a little stronger than ale. Follow me."

Antonio left the bar and followed Giorgina up the stairs. Did she always sway her hips that much when she walked? She led him to one of the rooms usually reserved for those too drunk to go home and men who couldn't afford a brothel.

"We won't be disturbed here," she told him and closed the door behind them. He was suddenly aware of just how inappropriate this situation was. He was alone in a room with a girl and they were about to get tipsy at the very least. This made him a little uncomfortable, especially when Giorgina sat down on the plain little bed and patted the spot beside her. She should have been the nervous one, but she seemed completely at ease.

"Here," she said, handing him the green bottle.

"What is it?" Antonio asked, unscrewing the lid and taking a sniff. It had a very strong, almost sweet scent.

"Irish whiskey," Giorgina grinned. "It's expensive… You will be paying for it, yes?"

Antonio smiled a genuine smile for the first time in weeks. "Yes, I'll pay." He braced himself and took a quick drink. He swallowed and then coughed. The stuff burned his throat and seared his nostrils. Then he felt it, the warm trail that seemed to tingle in his throat and pool in his stomach.

"That feels nice," he murmured.

Giorgina let out a laugh. "Never had whiskey before?"

"No…"

"_Really? _I mean, that's not a bad thing it's just…"

Antonio's smile widened a little, "I think you think that I am more of a rebel than I really am."

"I guess so." Giorgina took a swig (and handled it much better than he had) and passed it back to him. He was beginning to feel a pleasant buzzing sensation at the base of his skull. He took another drink, savoring the warmth in his stomach.

"So, you need a pair of ears? Here I am," she said pleasantly. "Tell me your troubles, o' weary lad."

"Does the whiskey make you Irish, too?" Antonio joked half-heartedly. There was some risk in telling Giorgina the whole truth; the ransom had said not to tell the authorities about Portia and Giorgina might do just that if he told her. Maybe he could just tell her _some _of the truth.

So he told her that his best friend had gotten into some money trouble and to get him out of it, he'd had to sign a contract. Said contract would have dire consequences if the money did not get paid back in time, and for that to happen his father needed to come home.

"And now you're worried that your father won't get back in time," Giorgina concluded with a concerned frown.

"Correct," Antonio sighed. By this time the small bottle was almost gone and it was getting a little difficult to focus on the features in Giorgina's face.

"How dire are the consequences if you can't repay the loan?"

He winced and rubbed his chest over his heart. "Quite dire."

"That seems like an awful lot of trouble to go through for one friend," Giorgina observed.

"Perhaps," Antonio shrugged; even that simple motion made him sway a little.

"He's lucky to have you," Giorgina muttered. Antonio glanced at her, took a moment to focus on her. Was that jealousy he detected? Her skin looked so soft, her lips so red… His thoughts were shooting off randomly in different directions. He felt the impulse to touch her hand and the part of his brain where his common sense was stored seemed to be out of commission.

She looked at him, her green eyes wide with surprise at his gesture and suddenly he was leaning forward and kissing her. She did not stiffen like he had at Bassanio's surprise kiss. She seemed to melt into his body, pulling him close… But something was wrong. He did not feel that blinding surge of desire when he turned his head and opened her mouth with his. He didn't even feel a stirring of passion. He felt as if his body was moving separate from his brain.

To his surprise she jerked away from him after only a few seconds. Her cheeks were flushed and her hands trembled.

"Don't," she whispered, turning away from him. "Please don't…"

Antonio put his head in his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking, I'm so sorry Giorgina."

She took a deep, calming breath. "It's alright. I understand… You're confused and lonely and going through a hard time. And sometimes whiskey had a tendency to intensify certain… desires. But I am not the one you're in love with, I can see that much."

Antonio risked a glance at her. She stared at her knees with the same expression he had seen in the mirror after Bassanio had kissed him. An action that should have filled him with hope and joy felt more like salt poured onto the wounds in his heart. How could he have he have put this innocent girl through the same pain he was feeling now?

"Giorgina…" he murmured, but was at a loss to come up with a proper apology or even some lame excuse for his impulsive and un-gentlemanly actions.

She offered him a shaky smile. "I'm not mad, really."

"How can I ever make it up to you?" he pleaded, half hoping she would task him with something outrageous to ease his guilt.

"I suppose you could dispose of any unruly customers for me that you might spot whenever you're in my tavern," she joked, but her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Her smile changed into a more somber expression. "You should tell her how you feel, whoever this girl is that you're in love with."

"It's not a girl…" Antonio mumbled, hiding his face in his hands so he wouldn't have to see her disappointed expression.

"_Oh_," Giorgina gasped. "Well… actually, that explains a lot. It's the best friend, isn't it?"

"Please don't tell anyone," he groaned. "I'll be run out of town…"

"Your secret is safe with me," her tone was lighter now, much to his relief. "Is it the blond boy that goes wherever you go?"

Antonio chuckled weakly. "Honestly, I'm usually the one doing the following." He looked up at her. "You have no idea the service you've done me. I've never told anyone… It's a relief."

"I can imagine," Giorgina chuckled, and this time her smile was genuine. "That must also be a big part of your heavy heart."

Antonio nodded and told her about Bassanio's engagement. "So you see why I can't say anything? Other than I would risk losing his friendship forever?"

Giorgina nodded. "I understand your concern but… If you don't tell him, it's going to eat away at your heart until it is a dry, cold husk that you will be giving away to some poor girl who you don't want to be with anyway. So you don't tell him, remain his friend, and torture yourself from a distance for the rest of your life? That doesn't seem fair to you in the least bit."

"I could not bear to lose him," Antonio whispered.

"Maybe you won't," she insisted.

"But if he rejected me and we still remained friends, things would never be the same between us," he countered. The thought of seeing Bassanio on the street and shamefully avoiding his gaze instead of walking over and embracing him was almost unbearable. He would rather suffer in silence.

"There is only one constant in life," Giorgina murmured, "and that is that things always change. He's going to realize how you feel one day. You're a terrible actor."

Antonio chuckled, "So I've been told." He sighed and rubbed his temples. All this secret-telling and emotional stress and lack of sleep was wearing him out.

"Lie back," Giorgina commanded, moving closer to the head board and patting her thigh. He hesitated, then turned on his back and lay his head in her lap. She began to stroke his hair and he closed his eyes, savoring the pleasantness of human companionship. She began to sing, sweet and low:

_La luce che tu dai_

_Nel cuore resterà_

_A ricordarci che l'eterna stella sei_

_Nella mia preghiera_

_Quanta fede c'è_

_E la fede che_

_Hai acceso in noi_

_Sento che ci salverai_

He let his eyes drift shut as illusive sleep finally overtook him.

*The song I used here is "The Prayer" (I DO NOT OWN IT, it was written by David Foster and some other people… I endorse the Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli version!) and I know it's not historically accurate but it's my fanfiction and one of my favorite songs so… yeah. I found the lyrics of _ . _In case I could get in trouble for plagiarism. Lyrics translated:

_I pray we'll find your light_

_And hold it in our hearts_

_When the stars go out each night_

_Let this be our prayer_

_When shadows fill our day_

_Need to find a place_

_Guide us with your grace_

_Give us faith so we'll be safe_


End file.
